American History Tellers - The WWII Home Front | United We Win | 2

Episode Date: May 13, 2020

As the nation’s factories and shipyards ramped up production for the war, the demand for labor exploded. Millions of women and minorities entered the workforce for the first time, finding a path to prosperity and opportunity. But as Americans joined in common purpose, strife and challenges hit the homefront. In 1943, half a million coal miners in West Virginia, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania went on strike, sparking nationwide uproar and threatening to derail the war effort. Cities erupted with tensions over housing and jobs as the largest migration in history transformed the nation. And deep questions over loyalty and belonging arose, as the federal government forced more than 100,000 Japanese Americans into detention camps.Listen ad-free on Wondery+ hereSupport us by supporting our sponsors!See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

Wondery Plus subscribers can binge new seasons of American History Tellers early and ad-free right now. Join Wondery Plus in the Wondery app or on Apple Podcasts. Imagine it's May 1943 in Harlan County, Kentucky. A Western Union messenger has just delivered a telegram with horrifying news, confirming your worst fears. You walk into the kitchen in a daze and sit down at the table to wait for your brother to come home. Normally, you'd both be at work. You're coal miners, just like your father. You first went down in the mines as teenagers,

but your mine has been shut down for weeks. The whole industry is on strike over low pay and bad working conditions, and you're starting to feel the strain. You hold the telegram in your hands. Your brother walks into the room, bag of groceries in his arms. Hey, guess what? Finally got a hold of that cereal you like so much. Don't know why, though.

Tastes like dirt. You look at your brother, sadness weighing heavily in your chest. Telegram came while you were gone. It's Dickie. At the sound of his son's name, your brother steadies himself against the wall. What about Dickie? Sorry, John.

He's been killed in action. He was in Tunisia. Your brother stares at you, totally silent as his face folds in shock and anguish. I'm so sorry. Dickie was a good kid. You knew that this was possible, but I didn't want to believe it. No, no, of course not. None of us did.

Oh, God. Sit down. John pulls up a seat beside you and puts his head in his hands. You know, since I got the telegram, I've been thinking a lot about Dad. Wondering what he'd do right now. Your brother turns toward you and narrows his eyes, blinking away tears. What do you mean? Well, whether he would go back to work at a time like this. So many of us are making sacrifices for the war. Maybe it's time we give it up. All those commotion, strikes, and unions, and contracts.

Let's just work to get our wages up once the war is done. Go back to work? My son is dead the war is done. Go back to work? My son is dead, and you want to go back to work? This isn't about Dickie. It is about me. And it's about this country. You heard what Roosevelt said on the radio the other night? Calling on coal miners to do their duty?

He said it's inconceivable that a patriotic miner choose any other course. Patriotic, huh? You know, duty, honor, patriotism, isn't that simple? What's the point of my son dying for freedom over there when we can't even get it here? I don't feel free. The union's telling me what to do. I want to work. And I can't help but wonder if we're betraying the cause.

The only betrayal would be to go back to work before they've agreed to our demands. I'm no traitor. I'm a patriot. The way I see it, I'm fighting for the same thing Dickie did. You look down at the telegram on the kitchen table. You're all your brother has now. If he's determined to stay out of the coal mines, then so are you. From Wondering comes a new series about a lawyer who broke all the rules. Need to launder some money? Broker a deal with a drug cartel? Take out a witness? Paul can do it. I'm your host, Brandon Jinks Jenkins. Follow Criminal Attorney on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. Hey, this is Nick. And this is Jack. And we just launched a brand new podcast called The Best Idea Yet.

You may have heard of it. It's all about the untold origin stories of the products you're obsessed with. Listen to The Best Idea Yet on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcasts. From Wondery, I'm Lindsey Graham, and this is American History Tellers. Our history, your story. Music By 1943, the American war effort was well into its second year, when half a million coal miners in West Virginia, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania went on strike.

The work stoppage jeopardized a critical source of fuel for the war effort and enraged government leaders and sparked a searing public outcry. President Roosevelt and leaders in government and industry knew that the war not only depended on military wins abroad, but the collective effort of the American people at home. The miners' strike was a troubling blow to their campaign to mobilize the home front and promote national unity. These efforts depended on harnessing the labor of America's diverse workers. So far, the war effort opened up new opportunities for those who had been sidelined in the economy of the past, especially women and minorities. Americans of all stripes rallied around the cause of victory, but tensions that had existed before the war in America

persisted and in some cases broke out into outright conflict. Strikes, race riots, and the forced internment of more than 100,000 Japanese Americans exposed the challenges of mobilizing Americans in a common cause and tested the meaning of loyalty and patriotism during a time of war. This is Episode 2, United We Win. Once America entered World War II in late 1941, President Franklin Delano Roosevelt had waged a sweeping campaign to scale up defense production. But he knew that workers were the most critical raw material of the entire mobilization effort. The nation's factories, shipyards, steel mills, and mines could not produce war supplies without the labor of the American people.

But with thousands of men shipping off to war, the military was draining the workforce and creating labor shortages. In the spring of 1942, Roosevelt created the War Manpower Commission to manage the growing demand for labor. He tapped former Indiana Governor Paul McNutt to lead the effort. McNutt was a tall, smooth-talking politician described by one newspaper as the Adonis of American politics. But he got off to a rocky start. McNutt's approach was to wait for workers to voluntarily move into war production jobs. This waiting game left labor shortages in critical industries such as aluminum and logging. And to make sure the draft didn't take too many essential workers out of the labor force,

Roosevelt also gave McNutt authority over the selective service which managed the draft. Eventually, McNutt created a system where men who worked in high-priority jobs, such as shipbuilders and aircraft mechanics, got draft deferrals, while others in less essential jobs, such as florists, barbers, and bartenders, got draft cards. As men left the workforce to fight overseas, a debate grew over whether to hire women to fill the void. Many employers argued women weren't suited for industrial jobs and resisted hiring them. workforce to fight overseas, a debate grew over whether to hire women to fill the void. Many employers argued women weren't suited for industrial jobs and resisted hiring them. McNutt discouraged recruiting mothers until all other resources had been exhausted,

stressing the need to protect the welfare of America's children. But pushing to bring women into the workforce was First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. After nearly a decade in the White House, Eleanor had redefined the role of First Lady in her relentless commitment to social reform. While her husband, the president, remained laser-focused on winning the war, Eleanor insisted that victory abroad would only be worth it

if America lived up to its ideals at home. As early as February 1942, Eleanor argued that women should be registering for war work through the Selective Service, just as men were. Speaking out in a radio broadcast, she declared, If Selective Service is a value where men are concerned, it should certainly be equally valuable where women are concerned. But with large numbers of men still unemployed throughout the nation, the president put off recruiting female workers. But by the fall of 1942, a sharp rise in

labor shortages caused those attitudes to shift. In an October fireside chat, Roosevelt attacked employers who refused to hire women, declaring that the country can no longer afford to indulge such prejudices. And as the need for workers grew, McNutt reluctantly turned his attention to the task of convincing women to turn to work in factories. He believed that persuading women to work in factories and obtaining the agreement of their husbands and fathers would be a tremendous sales proposition, but he had a plan. Rosie the Riveter. Rosie the Riveter became an iconic symbol of wartime women workers, made famous by posters featuring a denim-clad female worker flexing her bicep beneath the slogan, We Can Do It.

Government and industry recruiting campaigns urged women to do the job he left behind, and more than 6 million women answered the call. White, Black, and Latina women all joined factory floors. Many of them left domestic and agricultural work behind for better working conditions and higher pay in the defense industry. But while many of these women went to work out of a sense of patriotic duty, others were drawn to the chance to finally earn a wage and carve out an independent life. Imagine it's March 1943 at the Lockheed Aircraft Factory in Burbank, California.

You started working here as a bucker six months ago. You're finally getting used to the deafening vibration and noise, the constant din of riveting guns, the crash of giant metal presses. Now you're showing a new girl the ropes. You eventually learn how to drown out the noise. She covers her ears and gives you a look of disbelief. I don't know about that. No, just wait. You'll learn how to drown out the noise. She covers her ears and gives you a look of disbelief. I don't know about that. No, just wait. You'll get the hang of things. You ever worked a job before? No, this is my first one. My father never let me work before.

Let me tell you, nothing compares to the feeling of getting your first paycheck. Well, now that you're done with training, let's see how you do. We'll work in pairs. Shorter girls like us do the riveting and bucking. Standing on a platform, you show her how to use the riveting gun to shoot out short metal bolts into metal that will eventually become an airplane. I'll stand on the inside and keep pace with you. It's my job to smooth out the rivets with the bucking bar. Working on opposite sides of the panel, you begin.

Oh, what was that? I'm sorry, I lost control. You go over to check her work when a group of male co-workers down below take notice. One of them calls up to you, smirking. Well, it's not exactly a sewing machine, is it? No. You think you can do better? I know I can. You women aren't worth the money Lockheed pays you. Says the same guy who dropped his riveting gun just last week. Boy, that was a big dent. Ruined the whole panel. The man glares at you and walks away, and your new partner gives you a grateful smile. Thanks. Don't mention it. Us girls gotta stick together. Now, let's try it again. You climb back inside the panel and begin a second row of rivets.

Outside, on a break, you compliment the new girl. Her last row of rivets were perfect. I gotta tell you, you're a quick learner. You'll be an expert in no time. Because, see, we've got something the guys don't. She looks at you doubtfully. Smaller hands? Well, yes, but something more than that.

And what's that? These men don't think we belong here? But we've got the will and the skills to prove ourselves. Before the war, young American women typically worked only a few years before leaving their jobs to get married and have children. Now, as female workers join the factories and plants, they face harassment and discrimination, and they are paid at lower rates than their male counterparts. Employers tended to give women repetitive jobs

that required little training or skill, but managers soon realized women were more willing than men to learn new techniques and admit their mistakes. Many acknowledged that women produce more careful work with less waste and fewer accidents. Eleanor Roosevelt recognized the extra burdens on female workers and fought for programs to ease their difficulties. She played a key role in securing government funding for a nationwide network of child care centers and helped push towns and cities to provide after-school programs

and community laundries. But most politicians and business leaders viewed the increase in female workers as a temporary response to a national emergency, not a permanent shift in the labor force. They fully expected female workers, many of them married women over 35, to return to their roles as full-time homemakers after the war. In the meantime, millions of women pitched in to help jumpstart the war economy and meet the growing need in production. The war also created new opportunities for African Americans, who had long struggled against widespread employment discrimination

and racist Jim Crow laws that segregated the South and barred Blacks from voting. In 1940, before America entered the war, Black unemployment was twice the rate of white unemployment. And even as the government began ramping up for war production, Black workers were still largely shut out of defense work, except for menial and low-paying jobs. Many labor unions refused to admit African Americans as members, making it impossible for some companies to hire them. That began to change in early 1941, when the charismatic union leader and civil rights activist A. Philip Randolph threatened to stage a massive rally in Washington to demand equal employment opportunities in defense industries. Randolph had been fighting for the rights of Black workers for well over a decade.

In the 1920s, he organized the first predominantly Black labor union, the Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters. Driven by the keen insight that Black people make the most fundamental gains in periods of great social upheaval, he fought hard to make sure that the current war furthered the cause of racial justice. Randolph hoped the sight of tens of thousands of black protesters before the White House would wake up and shock white America as it has never been shocked before. But the president feared the planned march would disrupt the mobilization effort and possibly cause violence. He persuaded his wife,

who had previously met with a civil rights leader, to write a letter to Randolph telling him that his group was making a very grave mistake. When Randolph still refused to back down, Eleanor arranged for him to meet with the president. Randolph came to the White House in June, two weeks before the planned march, and he and the president reached a compromise. Roosevelt signed an executive order

outlining discrimination in war industries and establishing a Fair Employment Practices Commission to investigate cases of discrimination. In turn, Randolph canceled the march, but Black organizations and newspapers continued to fight what became known as the Double V Campaign, promoting victory against enemies abroad and against discrimination at home. Progress was slow. Many employers only turned to Black workers as a last resort. But eventually, the urgent need for labor caused the number of Black workers in the defense industry to triple over the course of the war. With crucial jobs being filled by women and African Americans,

industry had a chance to keep up with the war effort. But a shortage of workers wasn't the only problem threatening mobilization. The government had to prevent strikes from snarling production, too. Beginning in June 1940, a wave of strikes swept through the defense industry. As the demand for labor exploded, workers seized the opportunity to force employers to recognize their unions. In April 1941, tens of thousands of Ford workers used their cars to barricade a plant in Dearborn, Michigan. The Ford workers gained recognition for their union,

but public opinion wasn't on their side. A 1941 Gallup poll showed that more than 70% of Americans wanted to outlaw strikes in the defense industry. To prevent future strikes from holding up the war effort, Roosevelt negotiated a no-strike pledge with unions. He also established the National War Labor Board to mediate labor disputes that might slow down production. As a result, strikes and work stoppages sharply declined. A sense of patriotic duty kept workers on the job, and union leaders knew that strikes would only intensify anti-labor attitudes among the government and the American people. The no-strike pledge was a boon for the government and private industry, but it eroded the power of

organized labor. The government also took other measures that ended up weakening labor's influence. In June 1942, the National War Labor Board struck a deal with small steel manufacturers that limited their wage increases to 15%. What became known as the Little Steel Formula was soon applied to all industries to suppress wage increases. Already, unions had sacrificed their most powerful weapon by agreeing not to strike. Now, they felt the government had limited their ability to push for higher pay, even as the costs of basic goods like food, clothing, and housing were rising.

Capturing the coal miners' frustration was John L. Lewis, the iron-willed leader of the United Mine Workers Union. Lewis was a commanding presence in any room. He had a thundering voice and a scowling face framed by massive, bushy eyebrows. In February 1943, Lewis attacked the labor board's new wage ceiling with a stinging tirade. Under its arbitrary and miserably stupid formula, it chains laborers to the wheels of industry

without compensation for increased costs, while other agencies of government reward and fatten the industry by charging its increased costs to the public purse. That spring, Lewis led nearly a half million miners to close down the coal mines in West Virginia, Kentucky, and Pennsylvania, demanding wage increases and better safety equipment. The industry was a dangerous place to work. In 1943, casualties in coal mining and defense production were so high that they outnumbered combat injuries and

deaths overseas. But because the nation depended on coal to fuel manufacturing, transportation, and home heating, the strike became hotly political. A bitter showdown began between Lewis and President Roosevelt. The president privately cracked that he would be glad to resign if Lewis committed suicide. Roosevelt was a long-time champion of labor, and he sympathized with miners' concerns over harsh working conditions. But he refused to let anything get in the way of war production. On May 1st, Roosevelt ordered the Secretary of War to send troops, seizing more than 3,000 coal mines. Lewis refused to back down, taunting,

What will they do? Dig coal with their bayonets? The next day, Roosevelt appealed to the miners' sense of patriotism in a fireside chat, declaring that interruptions to the coal supply would damage America's chances for victory. I believe the coal miners will not continue the strike against their government. I believe that the coal miners, as Americans, will not fail to heed the clear call to duty. Like all other good Americans, they will march shoulder to shoulder with our armed forces to victory. The public sided with Roosevelt. Polls show that nearly 90% of the country disapproved of Lewis. Some members of Congress demanded Lewis

be indicted for treason. The Army's official newspaper declared, Speaking for the American soldier, damn your coal-black soul. Public anger over the strike led Congress to pass the Smith-Connolly War Labor Disputes Act, limiting the power of organized labor even further. The law strengthened the president's authority to seize war plants and mines, outlawed strikes in government-run facilities, and prohibited labor unions from making political contributions. A few days after the bill was passed, Lewis gave in, and the miners went back to work. But the legislative battle wasn't over. The First Lady had visited coal country and witnessed the brutal conditions firsthand. She argued that the miners were entitled to some concessions and encouraged her husband to veto the bill. The president listened.

Despite his fallout with Lewis, he believed the law would cause more unrest than it solved, and he didn't want to see the entire labor force punished for the actions of a small minority of strikers. He vetoed the bill, but Congress swiftly overrode him, striking a major blow to the labor movement. With the war effort in full swing by 1944, unemployment had virtually disappeared, a remarkable turnaround from just four years earlier when the decade-long Great Depression had left the economy in tatters. With industry humming, new opportunities had come for minority groups and women, but there was still a dark undercurrent of simmering tensions and resentment. And while war raged abroad, riots and conflict erupted on the home front.

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Check out Exhibit C in the Wondery app for workers exploded, new opportunities triggered a mass movement of the American people, the largest migration in U.S. history. One-fifth of the nation's population picked up and moved during the war. Millions joined the armed forces, and even more relocated for jobs in defense production. Some 700,000 African Americans in the South boarded buses and trains to seek jobs in the new factories in the North and West. Thousands of Native Americans left their reservations to seek work, and Latino laborers increasingly left farms behind to move to cities along the West Coast. But the influx of these new workers often sparked fierce tensions with local residents. Hate strikes swept the country as white workers shut down factories, shipyards, and transit companies to protest their new Black co-workers.

In 1941, more than 25,000 Packard workers walked out over the hiring of two African Americans. In Mobile, Alabama, white shipyard workers rioted over the promotion of Black welders, seriously injuring 11 men. And in Baltimore, white women employees shut down a Western electric factory to protest having to share a bathroom with their black co-workers. But amid this strife, there were some cases of interracial solidarity. In 1944, when black workers at the Calumet Shipyard in Chicago went on strike over discrimination in hiring and promotion, they won the support of many white workers as well as the local union. But these cases were few and far between, and the tensions didn't end at the workplace. As the growth in cities skyrocketed, lack of housing became a crisis.

Trailer and tent camps sprang up. Families paid exorbitant rents only to live in cramped, dilapidated housing. In response, the government built 2 million new housing units, mostly temporary barracks and trailers. It also launched share-your-home campaigns, encouraging families to take in migrants. Publicity posters features illustrations of families and the message, Daddy's a war worker, share your home with us.

In response, some 1.5 million homes opened their doors to relatives, friends, and strangers, but the need far outpaced the efforts. Competition for housing sometimes exploded into violence. This was especially true in Detroit, the epicenter of wartime industry. Nearly 50,000 Southern Blacks migrated to Detroit during the war, only to face discrimination from employers and crowded slums. The influx of thousands of Southern whites only exacerbated tensions. These new arrivals clashed over a precious and basic necessity, a roof over their heads. Imagine it's the morning of February 28th, 1942, in Detroit, Michigan. It's moving day. As you carry one final

box of the truck, you call out to your wife and two daughters who are piling in the backseat of your car. All right, everyone got everything? You almost slip on the light coating of snow on the ground, something you're still getting used to, having spent your whole life in Mississippi. You set down the box and tip your hat at the mover. Thank you. We'll see you there. After months of waiting, you and your family are about to move into the Sojourner Truth housing project. You set out for your new neighborhood in the northeast part of the city. The sun is just barely peeking through the gray clouds. You turn to your wife. Well, I know it was hard moving, but I can't wait

to start setting things up. And I can't wait to get away from the Thompsons. Ain't that the truth? Ever since you came to Detroit last fall, you've been living in cramped quarters, sharing an apartment with another family. It wasn't exactly what you imagined when you moved here to start work at the Packard plant. I can't believe we've already been paying rent for two months. They're only now just letting us move in. I'm just glad it's finally happening. Your wife points out the street sign ahead. I think this is it.

You turn the corner and you're confronted by a sight that makes you hit the brakes. Angry crowds are marching in front of the housing project. A large banner flaps in the breeze, reading, We want white tenants in our white community. Maybe we should turn around, Hunt. project. A large banner flaps in the breeze, reading, We Want White Tenants in Our White Community. Maybe we should turn around, hon. You know you should do as your wife says, but you hesitate, taking in the chaos around you. Suddenly, you see a half dozen men coming towards you,

and they're holding clubs. Turn around now, hon. You don't waste any more time. Make a U-turn as fast as you can and speed off. Your wife is shaken. We left Mississippi for this? I thought things would be better up north. I know. Looks like they've got the Klan up here too. Sure doesn't look much different from what we left behind.

Politicians have been doing a lot of talking about liberty and freedom, even calling this city the arsenal of democracy. You're trying to do your part to pitch in. But the fight for freedom isn't just overseas, you think. It's right here at home. The Sojourner Truth housing project in Detroit was the government's way of trying to solve the severe housing crisis. Thousands of new defense workers had filled the city. It was supposed to be a 200-unit housing project located in a majority-white neighborhood. The U.S. approved construction in 1941, but in late February 1942, the night before the first Black tenants were scheduled to move in, some 150 white protesters picketed the site and set a 20-foot-high cross on fire.

By dawn, hundreds more whites armed with knives, guns, and clubs had joined the protest. When the first Black families arrived, the mob smashed their headlights and overturned their moving trucks. By noon, more than 1,000 people of both races were trading blows. Police dispersed the mob with tear gas and made 220 arrests, but they targeted mostly Black suspects. Federal officials put the move-in on hold. The housing project remained vacant until April, when tenants finally moved in under the protection of 800 Michigan troops with fixed bayonets. The clash at Sojourner Truth set the stage for a far more brutal riot to come.

On a sweltering Sunday in June 1943, tens of thousands of residents were seeking refuge from the heat in Detroit's Bell Island Park when a fight broke out between white and black teenagers. Rumors spread that a mob of whites had thrown a black woman and her baby off a bridge. Whites heard the rumor that black men had raped and killed a white woman. The streets erupted in open warfare that raged throughout the night. Stores were looted, buildings and cars burned, pedestrians were shot, stabbed, and beaten.

The next morning, Detroit's mayor called on Washington for help. 6,000 federal troops swept through the city to quell the riot. 36 hours after the violence began, 25 black residents and nine whites were dead. Nearly 700 were seriously injured. But African Americans were not the only group to face hostility. To address labor shortages on the

nation's farms, the federal government signed an agreement with Mexico in 1942. The deal brought hundreds of thousands of Mexican agricultural workers, called braceros, across the border to harvest American crops on short-term contracts. The workers formed a critical backbone for the nation's food supply on both the battlefield and the home front, but they often faced rampant discrimination, exploitation, and terrible working conditions. The harsh social climate also carried over to the cities, such as Los Angeles, where anti-Mexican prejudice erupted in violence in the summer of 1943. Many Mexican-American teenagers were conspicuous because they wore zoot suits,

colorful outfits featuring balloon-legged trousers, long-tailed coats, and exaggerated lapels. First popularized by Black musicians in Harlem, zoot suits became flamboyant expressions of Mexican-American identity. But because the zoot suits flew in the face of convention, and because they used a lot of fabric in a time of rationing, many whites viewed them as an un-American challenge to the war effort. A city council ordinance banned the wearing of zoot suits, and local newspapers aggravated white hostility by falsely claiming

that the city's Mexican residents had caused crime rates to spike. The tensions came to a head. For 10 nights in June, white sailors on leave cruised Mexican-American neighborhoods. They viciously attacked anyone wearing a zoot suit, dragging them out of movie theaters and diners, tearing the clothes off their bodies and beating them, while L.A. police looked the other way or even joined in. In the violence, more than 150 people were injured. Police arrested more than

500, nearly all of them Mexican-American teenagers, and only a handful of white sailors. The Los Angeles Times praised those sailors, declaring that the Zoot Suiters had learned a great moral lesson from servicemen. In total, 1943 saw 250 incidents of racial violence in nearly 50 cities across the country. First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt said that the race riots put the country on a par with Nazium, which we fight. The president, too, was well aware that racial strife threatened home front morale and jeopardized the war effort, and considered making a statement about race. But ultimately, he decided against it,

so as not to anger Southern legislators, whose votes he needed to push through essential war bills. Instead, government propaganda posters with slogans like, United We Win and Americans All promoted the ideal of a diverse people joining together in common cause to defeat the Nazis. But as much as the government championed diversity and inclusion, it also compromised on those ideals. Time and again, wartime needs took precedence. After Pearl Harbor, unnaturalized Italian, German, and Japanese immigrants were designated enemy aliens and were required to register with authorities. But by the spring of 1942, the government abandoned the idea of relocating Italian and German non-citizens to avoid alienating Italian-American and German-American communities. But harsher treatment

was reserved for Japanese-Americans. They had long been subject to racism and discrimination, but now outrage and shock over Pearl Harbor intensified anti-Japanese prejudice. At first, the federal government was reluctant to relocate Japanese-Americans, but paranoia about potential Japanese sabotage and pressure from authorities and citizens of Western states led Roosevelt to change course. Many white small business owners and farmers in the West saw economic opportunity and lobbied for relocation, hoping to rid themselves of their Japanese competitors. On February 19, 1942, President Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066, authorizing the War Department to designate military areas from which people might be excluded. Though the order referred to all so-called enemy aliens, the Secretary of War implemented the order only against Japanese Americans on the West Coast. A few weeks later,

the military began the relocation and interment of nearly 120,000 Japanese Americans. Two-thirds of them were native-born American citizens. With a stroke of a pen, Roosevelt authorized one of the most severe violations of civil liberties in American history. When the Attorney General voiced his opposition, Roosevelt betrayed little remorse, declaring, this must be a military decision. In March 1942, people of Japanese descent up and down the West Coast were given less than a week to settle their affairs. Families were forced to sell off their homes, businesses, furniture, whatever they couldn't carry, often for pennies on the dollar. Soon, the entire Japanese American population of California, Washington, Oregon, and part of Arizona

were assigned numbers and packed into overcrowded assembly centers at fairgrounds and racetracks. From there, they were sent hundreds or thousands of miles away to one of ten internment camps in remote parts of the West. The camps were enclosed by barbed wire fences and guard towers manned by snipers. Families lived in shoddy, barely heated wooden barracks. Internees adapted to a life in the camps as best they could. Students were sent to school, and adults were given farming and maintenance jobs. Camps had governing councils, newspapers, sports teams, and places of worship.

But the Japanese Americans in these camps were denied basic dignity, privacy, and rights. Traditional family relationships broke down. Many struggled with the endless monotony and harsh conditions of life in the camps. Throughout the country, most Americans accepted Japanese internment without question. But civil liberties groups challenged the move through lawsuits. In 1942, a 23-year-old welder named Fred Korematsu refused to report for relocation. He was arrested and convicted of defying the government's order. With the help from the American Civil Liberties Union, he fought his case all the way to the Supreme Court. But in 1944,

the Supreme Court ruled against him, arguing that the incarceration of Japanese Americans was justified due to military necessity. That necessity was suspect. Japanese Americans posed no real military threat. No Japanese American was ever convicted of sabotage during the war. The internees were ultimately released in January 1945 as the war wound to a close. Some had to start over with nothing. Many were left with permanent scars from the experience. One survivor recalled, I learned to salute the flag by the time I was five years old. I was learning, as best one could learn in the camp, what it meant to live in America, but I was also learning the sometimes

bitter price one has to pay for it. As the end of the war finally looked possible, few could imagine what peacetime life would look like. Many Americans remembered the recession that followed the First World War, when millions of veterans returned home only to face unemployment and homelessness. They feared the same could happen now. The country had only just come out of a devastating depression. So the government began to set the course for peace amid uncertainty and fierce debate. For more than two centuries, the White House has been the stage for some of the most dramatic scenes

in American history. Inspired by the hit podcast American History Tellers, Wondery and William Morrow present the new book, The Hidden History of the White House. Each chapter will bring you inside the fierce power struggles,

the world-altering decisions, and shocking scandals that have shaped our nation. You'll be there when the very foundations of the White House are laid in 1792, and you'll watch as the British burn it down in 1814. Then you'll hear the intimate conversations between FDR and Winston Churchill as they make plans to defeat Nazi forces in 1941. And you'll be in the Situation Room when President Barack Obama approves the raid to bring down the most infamous terrorist in American history. Order The Hidden History of the White House now in hardcover or digital edition, wherever you get your books. In the Pacific Ocean, halfway between Peru and New Zealand,

lies a tiny volcanic island. It's a little-known British territory called Pitcairn, and it harboured a deep, dark scandal. There wouldn't be a girl on Pitcairn once they reached the age of 10 that would still have heard it. It just happens to all of them. I'm journalist Luke Jones, and for almost two years, I've been investigating a shocking story that has left deep scars on generations of women and girls from Pitcairn. When there's nobody watching, nobody going to report it,

people will get away with what they can get away with. In the Pitcairn trials, I'll be uncovering a story of abuse and the fight for justice that has brought a unique, lonely Pacific island to the brink of extinction. Listen to the Pitcairn Trials exclusively on Wondery+. Join Wondery in the Wondery app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. By 1944, Allied forces were swiftly gaining momentum, but victory was still far from guaranteed. American factories continued to churn out record numbers of planes and munitions, but already a debate was arising over when and how to roll back defense production and resume

the focus on consumer goods, a process known as reconversion. The outcome of reconversion would determine the future of the American economy and its workforce. For more than two years, Donald Nelson had led the mobilization effort as head of the War Production Board. Now, after a prolonged struggle to coax private industry into the war, he would throw his energy behind getting them back to making civilian goods. Nelson proposed lifting restrictions on raw materials no longer needed for war production so that smaller companies could get back to building household appliances, railroad equipment, schools, and hospitals.

He also wanted to help retrain wartime workers for civilian jobs, something that earned him support from organized labor. On the other side of the debate were military leaders who were adamant that the nation devote all its resources to war until victory was achieved. They argued that shifting the economy away from defense production before the war was won was unpatriotic. It would make Americans complacent and damage morale. Big business agreed, but for different reasons. The giants of U.S. industry feared that while they were still funding defense contracts and churning out war supplies, smaller companies would get a head start on reconversion. They wanted to make sure that when the war was over, they returned to the marketplace

as they had left it, leaders of industry. The controversy came to a head in the summer of 1944. After the D-Day landings, the Allied advance stalled, and Roosevelt felt he had no choice but to keep production devoted entirely to the war effort. Roosevelt eased Nelson out of his post, sending him on a special mission to China. He then appointed a new head of the War Production Board, who was more friendly to the military's point of view. But keeping the economy focused on war production had a human cost. Americans feared the end of widespread prosperity once the war ended. They worried that when the defense plants shut down and millions of GIs came home, there wouldn't be enough jobs for everyone. Women were especially anxious about their future

in a post-war economy. Government surveys showed that three-quarters of working women wanted to remain in their roles. One union leader declared that industry must not be allowed to settle the employment problem by chaining women to kitchen sinks. Eleanor Roosevelt had long championed the capabilities of working women, and now she urged that the post-war economy give anyone who wants to work a chance to work. But already, women were being laid off at a rate 75% higher than men. Some supervisors nudged women out by placing them on midnight shifts, reassigning them to less desirable positions, or closing down daycare centers. But as the war neared its end, and the military cut back work orders, men too lost their jobs. Both parties in Congress were determined to find a way to avoid a post-war economic downturn. They focused their energies on returning veterans. In the spring of 1944, Congress passed what is

known as the GI Bill of Rights, providing returning servicemen with low-cost home loans, education funding, job training, and unemployment benefits. Then, in August 1945, the United States dropped two atomic bombs over Japan, unleashing immediate and widespread devastation. Japan surrendered soon after. At long last, the war was over. All across the country, Americans poured into the streets to celebrate victory, but still many wondered what the future would bring and whether wartime gains could be sustained. Imagine it's September 1950 in Long Beach, California. You're just about to get out of class at Long Beach City College, where you're studying for a business degree. When you enlisted back in 42, you figured if you made it back home to Detroit, you'd be back on the assembly line. You definitely never saw yourself in college, but you love the

practical courses here and the places full of other XGIs. But today is not just any day on campus. You're standing outside, feeling the warm sun on your skin, waiting for your fiancé to meet you. You've got some big news for her. There you are. How was class? It was good. Listen, I have some news. She looks at you nervously. You smile. Take a deep breath. Uh, I bought a house yesterday. Her face goes blank, like she's looking right past you.

Hello, you hear what I said? No, I heard you. I just don't understand. A house? Like with the walls and a front door and everything? Yeah, a real house. With walls and a front door and everything. And did you consider that your future wife might want to have a say in that? I thought it'd be a fun surprise. Did you know? How are we ever going to afford a house?

You don't even have any savings. You're still in school. You barely make anything at the store. I thought business school was supposed to teach you a thing or two about making sound financial decisions. There's no down payment. The GI Bill, just a 4% interest rate. The mortgage is just $60 a month. Okay.

Well, where is this house? Brand new suburb, Lakewood, just 10 miles north of here. Lakewood? That's just a bunch of bean fields. Not for much longer. Here, look. You ruffle through your rucksack, take an advertisement out, and show her the floor plans. See? See? Look.

Soon we'll have a brand new 1,100 square foot house. 1,100 square feet. It's a great deal, right? Your fiancé sighs. Yeah, I'll admit it sounds pretty good. When can we, I mean, you, move in? You grin at her. It won't be long, and then right after the wedding, you'll move in and rearrange all the furniture. Despite fears of a coming depression and uncertainty, Americans returned to a stabilized post-war economy. Many had saved up their money during the war, and they were eager to buy cars and appliances once the nation's factories were once again rolling out consumer products. The return of the GIs and the

strong economy spawned a post-war baby boom as families flocked to suburbs that embodied the new American dream. Yet while millions of white veterans took advantage of new pathways to homeownership and higher education, accumulating wealth that would carry down to future generations, many Black veterans were cut out of the benefits of the GI Bill. Though the law did not explicitly exclude African Americans, in practice, persistent discrimination denied them many of its benefits. Redlining policies excluded African Americans from mortgages and restricted them to poor, segregated neighborhoods, and Veterans Affairs job counselors frequently steered Black veterans

towards vocational training instead of university courses. These practices and others helped to further widen the gap between Black and white America. More than one million African Americans had fought for freedom overseas, only to return home and face the same prejudice they'd left behind. Frustration at being left out of the post-war economic boon would lead many to protest for civil rights. Though the war did not trigger

a major change in the status of African Americans, it did sow the seeds of the civil rights movement to come. For women, many wartime gains proved temporary. Two-thirds of female workers left the labor force after the war to make room for returning veterans. But the war did change perceptions about women's capabilities, laying the groundwork for the women's rights movement of the 60s and 70s. Labor unions, too, faced setbacks after the war. Lingering tensions between unions and employers that had been put aside in the name of wartime unity again came to a head in peacetime. In the year following the end of the war, more than 5 million Americans went on strike. Many unions at first won wage increases, but Congress cracked down on the wave of strikes by passing the Taft-Hartley Act in 1947,

which restricted a wide array of labor union tactics, weakening unions for decades to come. After four long years of war, American society had been transformed. The unprecedented mobilization effort had carried the country out of the mire of the Great Depression. The size and strength of the federal government grew dramatically, and the United States became the military, political, and economic powerhouse of the world. Though Americans grappled with shortages and wage controls, by the war's end, they experienced a major rise in their standard of living, and this prosperity would only grow. Over the next quarter century, the economy added 20 million new

jobs, and production, employment, and income levels continued to climb. Prosperity and opportunity were not equally shared, and wartime gains came at the cost of more than 400,000 American lives. But millions of men and women of all races had powered the arsenal of democracy. To win the war, Americans on the home front applied their collective ingenuity and willpower in service of a common good. In doing so, they offered a model for future generations, an expansive vision of what this nation could achieve in the face of extraordinary challenges. On the next episode of American History Tellers, for decades, gay men and women in America faced two choices.

They could be out and risk losing everything, or they could be invisible. But one night in 1969, after police once again raided a popular gay bar in New York City, the patrons decided they'd had enough. The six days of protest that followed would become known as the Stonewall Riots, a turning point in the gay rights movement that would inspire people across the country to fight for equality. From Wondery, this is American History Tellers. I hope you enjoyed this episode. Amazon Music. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a short survey at wondery.com slash survey. American History Tellers is hosted, edited, and produced by me,

Lindsey Graham for Airship. Sound design by Derek Behrens. This episode is written by Ellie Stanton, edited by Dorian Marina, executive produced by Jenny Lauer Beckman and Marshall Louis, created by Hernán Ló Lopez for Wondery. This is the emergency broadcast system. A ballistic missile threat has been detected inbound to your area. Your phone buzzes and you look down to find this alert. What do you do next? Maybe you're at the grocery store.

Or maybe you're with your secret lover. Or maybe you're robbing secret lover. Or maybe you're robbing a bank. Based on the real-life false alarm that terrified Hawaii in 2018, Incoming, a brand new fiction podcast exclusively on Wondery Plus, follows the journey of a variety of characters as they confront the unimaginable. The missiles are coming. What am I supposed to do? Featuring incredible performances from Tracy Letts, Mary Lou Henner, Mary Elizabeth Ellis, Paul Edelstein, and many, many more, Incoming is a hilariously thrilling podcast that will leave you wondering, how would you spend your last few minutes on Earth? You can binge Incoming exclusively and ad-free on Wondery+.

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